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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28936728">We Both Know It Was You</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Holly_Golightly/pseuds/Holly_Golightly'>Holly_Golightly</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Captive Prince - C. S. Pacat</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Allusions to Laurent's trauma, Biased POV, Book 1, Canon Compliant, Character Study, Consent Issues, M/M, POV Laurent (Captive Prince), Power Dynamics, Public Blow Jobs, Public Sex, Rape/Non-con Elements, The garden scene</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 03:29:16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>5,692</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28936728</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Holly_Golightly/pseuds/Holly_Golightly</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>In the spaces between his words Damianos shifted, expression changing, body thrumming. When Laurent spoke, it was like plucking the string of a harp: a shudder, a shift, a breath that wasn’t a groan. He was reacting to Laurent’s voice more than he was to Ancel’s ministrations.</p>
<p>Laurent was inescapably aware it.</p>
<p>~*~</p>
<p>Laurent’s POV of the Ancel/garden scene in Arles.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Damen/Laurent (Captive Prince)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>128</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>We Both Know It Was You</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>TW: Canon level hints of Laurent’s trauma/CSA</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“What about something small, while we wait for the main entertainment?” Vannes offered a half smirk on her face as she regarded Damianos “surely it’s past time for the slave to learn his place?”</p>
<p>The last she directed to Laurent, a challenge if ever he heard one.</p>
<p>She wasn’t wrong either. It was a challenge to Laurent’s <em>mastery </em>of him. A recall to the shambolic show they had all just witnessed between Laurent, his Uncle, and the slave. A verbal flogging wherein Laurent had lost the majority of his fucking resources. And all because of the slave, who was angling for his Uncle.</p>
<p>Allying himself with the Regency.</p>
<p>And why wouldn’t he? Damianos had been aware just who the real power in Vere was from the first moment the three of them had stood together in the harem on his first night. He had used it against Laurent in the ring, giving his permissive fucking play pretend of submission to stymy him. A snake in the grass; his uncle’s Akielon spy. Which, he supposed, was always at least partially the point of this vulgar masquerade.</p>
<p>Laurent’s blood was set aflame with just that, thinking about the ring, and the baths, and Nicaise, and all the eager desperate things the court said about seeing Damianos<em> perform</em> like that. Not on his knees the way other pets were regarded, the way they clambered to see other pets held down and <em>fucked</em>. No. They wanted to see the barbarian <em>take</em>.</p>
<p>Even in chains there was nothing simpering or submissive about him and the whole fucking court reacted like panting bitches in heat. It rankled, it made Laurent’s skin feel pulled taut over bones that could not be contained, over lungs that felt weighted with blood and shame.</p>
<p>When they spoke about Laurent they spoke about him like he was a pet. They spoke about taking. About folding him down or bending him over and stuffing him with cock. But not Damianos. No, they wanted to see him hold someone down, they wanted to see him mounting. Even in a slave collar and cuffs the court afforded him a respect -a power- they denied Laurent. And they didn’t even know him for who he really was. One more thing to please his Uncle in this ongoing fucking mummery.</p>
<p>It was repulsive. </p>
<p>It was infuriating.</p>
<p>There was also the fact he was Akielon. Their sensibilities were all backward Laurent had heard so there was that to consider in his decision. Performances weren’t done, they kept sex behind closed doors; as shown in Damianos’ utter loathing of the performances he’d witnessed. It would wound him. He would hate it. He would hate being unable to deny his body. Laurent knew well enough the lingering sting of that slap.</p>
<p>Yes. Fitting then.</p>
<p>Decision made he lifted his head “why not?”</p>
<p>“No,”</p>
<p>It was instant, fire meeting ice when Laurent met Damianos’ gaze and something like amusement settled in his chest, satisfaction at the expression of horror on the slave’s face.</p>
<p>Damianos struggled against the guards, at first two and then four, who had to drag him to the bench but Laurent understood that Damianos was not <em>truly </em>fighting them. He wasn’t a complete halfwit then, unwilling to <em>truly</em> jeopardise himself by killing anyone. Yet. Laurent almost wanted to see the rage break in him like that, his patience taken too far, his pride flaring up, the beast just barely held at bay that reared its head occasionally and was resolutely and forcibly strapped back down. It would be a sight, of that he was certain, to see what that body was truly capable of when he let his control go.</p>
<p>The other part of him was afraid, because he knew, as he knew his own name, it would only end in Laurent’s death if he was anywhere near Damianos when his chains, both real and metaphorical, fell.</p>
<p>He was taken and chained to a lover’s bench. The sweet floral aroma from the twisting vines and serpentine hedgerows surrounding them in the darkness, coupled with the air of anticipation, made the scene less real somehow; more a dream than anything else.</p>
<p>They chained Damianos’ wrists above his head to the metal frame work of the bower. Laurent hung back as the courtiers settled and Berenger gave his reluctant orders. He watched Damianos, the anger, the acceptance, the spread of his arms where he was chained by his cuffs.</p>
<p>He saw his eyes flicker, his wrists twitch, watched his gaze bounce around the alcove and settle on the guards and courtiers in a quick assessment before Damianos made his shoulders and chest settle back. Forcibly restrained. Even in this, still, with chains on him and humiliation opening up before him, <em>again, </em>it was permissive; a show of what he was allowing to happen, aware all the whilst he could get out of it if he wanted to. Laurent was likewise keenly aware of it.</p>
<p>A little late for his own tastes Laurent had realised that Damianos was much more of a strategist than he had considered. Every move was tactical. He had slipped but once, in the bath’s, and Laurent doubted he would let himself slip again. He wouldn’t be tricked or coerced into making a similar mistake of that Laurent was certain.</p>
<p>The exception in his strategy, of course, was whenever he deigned to let loose the quick wit of his tongue. But Laurent saw now. He had seen the man scan every room he walked into like he was aware of all exits and exactly how many people were present; how much of a threat they were to him. He had seen the idle way he assessed his guards with quick calculating eyes and then dismissed them like they posed no real trouble at all. He was waiting for the right moment and Damianos knew well enough when -and to whom- he should play pretend.</p>
<p>And just like his Uncle it was always given when there were witnesses. A scene to a script Laurent did not yet have in its entirety.</p>
<p>The first time Damianos had condescended to play act at submission burnt brightly in his mind. After the ring fight. The slave falling to his knees with a perfectly placid expression and his head tipped just enough as he spoke words that he knew couldn’t be ignored. Like he hadn’t just subverted Laurent’s plans with a casualness that made his every move seem idle and <em>bored</em>. Like Vere was beneath him. Like Laurent wasn’t good enough.</p>
<p>Well, if Laurent could not have his submission, he would have his surrender. Here and now and in front of witnesses, just as the man preferred when he was deigning to give his acquiescence oh so fucking magnanimously.</p>
<p>Damianos was in an inescapably submissive position, thighs parted, arms up and tied. But he didn’t look even a little bit submissive. He was tense, his entire impressive body one taut coil of strain. He looked singularly huge like that and the chains looked like decoration, like a Lion wrapped in ribbon. Those chains would hold only for as long as Damianos let himself be held. Laurent had absolutely no doubt he was just biding his time; that made two of them, he did suppose.</p>
<p>Ancel had gone from faux-panting to intimidated in less than a beat as he realised it too. The pet covered it well, but Laurent could see the tension lick up Ancel’s spine, the way he blinked like he was steeling himself. It would serve him right if Damianos absolutely ruined him.</p>
<p>But Berenger cut short any rumination on the subject; Ancel was only going to use his mouth. Berenger was right to be worried. Ancel would be hoarse and his jaw aching for a week if Damianos gave in and fucked his skull the way Laurent imagined he would. A petty vicious part of him wanted that. Ancel was grating on his last nerve and seeing the pet being made to vomit all over the Akielon’s cock would undoubtedly make his week.</p>
<p>Laurent had seen the man’s cock after all. He hadn’t even been roused and it had still been nearly as big as most cocks were hard, or at least insofar as Laurent had been made aware from his Uncle’s vulgar court. If the slave got bigger when roused then Ancel was definitely going to feel it. If Damianos actually knew how to use it then Laurent hoped he’d make Ancel choke on his own ambition.</p>
<p>He was said to know how to use it. Near a thousand lovers. That’s what the stories all said.</p>
<p>The Crown-Prince of Akielos was insatiable, it was mentioned every time an account of him was given. Almost as if his prowess in bed was as much an accomplishment as the ages at which he had first gutted a man or lead an army. Said along with all the other useless trite that told Laurent what Damianos had done and not who he was: Damianos fucked for sport.</p>
<p>And looking at him no one would bet against it. He was a slave in Vere, and if Laurent had a coin for every time he had been approached by a courtier offering their own pet for a showing with him then he would be swimming in gold and silver. If he kept track of all the less subtle offers about an entirely <em>more private </em>experience -a fucking loan- then half the court would owe him a favour. He could well imagine how much worse it was when the man was in a crown and not a collar.</p>
<p>He had a full harem too. How many times had he sat back just like this and been serviced by his docile slaves and thought nothing of it? It would be good for him, to taste his own sour medicine. Good for Ancel too no doubt; a lesson in biting off more than he could chew.</p>
<p>See? Laurent could be giving when he wanted to be.</p>
<p>More courtiers wandered over, they settled on the bench opposite the make-shift stage and Laurent hung to the side, on the fringes, above this, beyond this. He could hear them talking about his interest in this, in the slave, in his agreement; never before given and his interest never before ignited. He wasn’t interested now. Beyond the humiliation. He stayed back on purpose; a show of his indifference. He wouldn’t be moved by this the way the courtiers settling wanted him to be. He would be as watched for a reaction as Damianos and that he knew. They wouldn’t get one. He didn’t care for the sex or the show. He wanted Damianos to know what this felt like.</p>
<p>It wasn’t about sex. It was about power and this was a lesson Laurent had learned the hard way. Damianos was about to know it too.</p>
<p>Ancel stood alone in-between the two benches as the time approached. Laurent canted his head, watching Damianos control his breathing even though he looked ready to tense and strain against the chains binding him. There was fury in his body but his eyes were somewhat distant.</p>
<p>Laurent wondered where he had gone to, what he was thinking beyond his hatred of this moment. His eyes said they were somewhere. Or maybe they weren’t, maybe he was all too present and struggling to make everything make sense. Laurent knew what that was like: the surreal unreality of something you didn’t understand and couldn’t stop. When you couldn’t quite make sense of what you were feeling or what you were supposed to want or do. When everything moved so quickly it was impossible to grasp at any solid thought.</p>
<p>He wondered if Damianos would just react. Whether he would be the kind to just let it happen: to let himself just feel the pleasure and get swept away. It was easier, after all, to give yourself up and let the tide carry you, because the current would only be exhausting and perilous to swim against.</p>
<p>Everyone knows you only start drowning when you let yourself think about it, when you try to fight it; that’s when the panic sets in. They said drowning could feel pleasant, once you’d made the decision to let the water have you. And if you were already dying then wasn’t it better to just accept it: to feel good for a moment, instead of feeling the burn in your lungs and the crush of the darkness?</p>
<p>Or was Damianos stronger than that? He certainly looked it. He was certainly too stupid and too blind to realise the harder you fought the worse it would sting later. That’s what weakness was: a blow that ached long after it had been dealt.</p>
<p>They were no choices at all really: feel good in the moment and let it fester beneath the surface, or fight it and feel the shame keenly when you couldn’t win.</p>
<p>Laurent didn’t feel sympathy. He didn’t feel anything.</p>
<p>He still didn’t feel anything as Ancel dropped down between the spread of Damianos’ thighs and the slave square his jaw. The hatred in his gaze was intense, like lightning, and Laurent had only a moment to admire the brutal play of it in the man’s features before he was turning the full force of it on him in a whiplash gaze that made Laurent lift his chin.</p>
<p>This would be just one more reason on a growing list as to why Damianos would have to die soon. The chain looked flimsy, even the shackles looked temporary. But the burning in his gaze was a permanent and irrevocable thing and he had Laurent’s scent like a shark following blood. If Damianos did not die soon then doubtless he would find a way to kill him. Laurent knew he would have to figure out a way to get it done.</p>
<p>With practiced unselfconscious ease Ancel reached between Damianos’ legs, flicking away the slave garments that did little to cover him anyway and set his mouth to him immediately. There was an indrawn breath as Ancel did so and Laurent watched with cool indifference the mechanics of it begin to play out.</p>
<p>He was barely seeing Ancel, he kept his eyes on Damianos and watched him carefully, closely. He could hear the suckling noises, the exaggerated little breaths, could see Ancel’s hand shifting and yet Damianos did not react. He was staring down at Ancel and was entirely unmoved; expression caught somewhere between disdain and something that could almost be amusement.</p>
<p>Was he deficient? No, that couldn’t be true, everyone said he was insatiable. And yet here he was. Entirely unmoved. He had been unmoved by Nicaise too. Perhaps he really did not sway toward boys. But even then Ancel was pretty and delicate, his body youthful, almost androgynous. With his head bowed like that he could almost have been a woman.</p>
<p>Except that wasn’t right either. Damianos had not been unmoved in the baths. With Laurent. They’d been alone then though. Perhaps the audience threw him off. Perhaps it was Ancel’s technique. Or lack thereof. He was undoubtedly good at his job, Laurent had heard those gossips too, but he was not used to having to rouse a lover, surely. He was probably only familiar with being used once someone made the choice to use him. He’d probably never had to coax so thoroughly.</p>
<p>No. Ancel was doing it wrong. Damianos wouldn’t come like this. He looked far too pleased to be denying Ancel and the court and <em>Laurent. </em>It needed to be slower; make his body reach for it, draw it out of him slowly because he knew enough of Damianos to know this particular denial would not come naturally to him. It was never going to work like this and Laurent would <em>not </em>be denied. He wanted this surrender, reluctantly given and coaxed. Damianos <em>would </em>know what it felt like, even if he had to pry it from him.</p>
<p>Laurent shifted before he could really consider what he was doing, coming to sit beside Damianos. The man was so big, with his thighs splayed as he sat in the middle of the bench, that there were barely more than a few scant inches between them.</p>
<p>Laurent ignored the reaction from the audience, ignored the slow breath of a whisper from them, focused entirely on Damianos and his reaction. He did react at least, not immune to Laurent’s closeness. He tensed immediately as Laurent took a seat, eyes not moving from where they hovered near Ancel, but not on him.</p>
<p>From his seat Laurent could sense Ancel’s frustration and his mystification. Idiot boy. He broke the silence of the scene with a voice he knew was perfectly mild, even as he was burning with frustration himself; Damianos was in all ways defiant. Laurent hated him for it.</p>
<p>“I wonder if we can do better than this. Stop.”</p>
<p>With his eyes fixed on Damianos’ face he saw the flicker cross over his expression, the swift flex of his thighs -almost denied- the minute jerk of his hips that probably could not be seen by their audience. But Laurent saw, he held himself above it, tried not to think of why he reacted or whether it was imagined.</p>
<p>One quick flick downward showed Ancel blinking, a smirk in his eyes if not on his face; acceptance not surprise. He’d felt Damianos react too.</p>
<p>Ancel did stop, with a wet slurp that sounded loud in the quiet. No one moved, no one reacted, but Laurent could feel their eyes on him, interest, intrigue, <em>fervour. </em>There would be talk of this.</p>
<p>He brushed it aside and focused on Damianos. It was less than ideal but Laurent could feel the loathing simmering between them, pulsing back and forth, ebbing and flowing like waves. He was just angry enough to let loose his impulses. He’d been bruised, wounded tonight. He would not be defied by the slave again.</p>
<p>Damianos grit his teeth, jaw clenched as he turned his face away entirely, hiding his expression from Laurent. No matter. Laurent didn’t need or want to see his face. He didn’t need his expression to have his surrender.</p>
<p>“You’re more likely to win a game if you don’t play your whole hand at once,” he said mind flickering to his uncle despite himself, to their on-going game of chess that Laurent was most definitely losing, hand withheld or not “start more slowly,” he said</p>
<p>Ancel leant in “Like this?”</p>
<p>Laurent had his gaze torn between watching Ancel and watching Damianos. Ancel didn’t touch his cock, slid his hands up tense thighs, breathed on him, getting lower but not touching him and Laurent could see Damianos was hardening. He could see he was trying desperately not to react, schooling himself, trying not to acknowledge his own body. Laurent knew how difficult that could be, knew it came only with practise and Damianos did not seem the type to delay his own gratification, or indeed, deny himself gratification.</p>
<p>“Like that,” he affirmed as Damianos tensed further.</p>
<p>“Shall I?”</p>
<p>“Don’t use your mouth yet, just your tongue,” he said and Ancel obeyed.</p>
<p>Satisfied that Ancel would do exactly as he was told Laurent turned his focus on Damianos entirely, watching him closely, reading him in every flicker of his eyes and every twitch of his body. He didn’t see what Ancel did exactly but Damianos’ eyes flared a little, jaw twitching as if to open. He liked it.</p>
<p>“He liked that. Do it harder,” he instructed watching avidly and waiting for it.</p>
<p>Damianos was unspooling, body betraying him and Laurent was eager for it. He narrowed his eyes, listening as Ancel hummed between Damianos’ thighs and then. There. The first unwilling hint of surrender.</p>
<p>Damianos swore. It was just a breath, low and aggressive but undeniably <em>giving</em>. Whether he wanted to or not. He said it in Akielon but Laurent knew the word. <em>Fuck.</em> A curse. An acceptance. Damianos knew there would be no denying Ancel’s mouth. Laurent’s words.</p>
<p>He almost smirked but tamped it down as Damianos’ hips shifted just slightly.</p>
<p>“Now the whole length,”</p>
<p>He knew Ancel did it immediately because his thighs twitched apart just barely and Laurent saw it, all but felt it, like a wolf on the trail following the scent and he sat up straighter, focusing more intently now he could sense the surrender. Damianos would know this humiliation. He would give Laurent this. Laurent would make sure.</p>
<p>Damianos’ breath quickened and he tensed, testing the strength of his shackles as he rattled them just enough to betray himself before he turned his head toward Laurent. Laurent tried not to react, tried not to let his surprise show. But he was surprised; surprised Damianos would let him see this, not try to hide his humiliation. He didn’t know why; he didn’t have chance to think about it because Damianos fastened his eyes boldly to Laurent’s and didn’t look away. Well. Laurent most certainly would not be the first to look away, the challenge was sat in the man’s eyes, to what end he did not know but this was a game Laurent would win, even if he wasn’t very clear on the rules.</p>
<p>“Take it in now, just the tip,” he said and Damianos blinked back at him as he sucked in a tight breath. Ancel obeyed.</p>
<p>“Keep it slow,” Laurent added just to watch the flicker of frustration cross Damianos’ features.</p>
<p>He knew. Laurent <em>knew. </em>Damianos was used to the aggressive role, he took, he didn’t sit still and endure. This was new for him. And though it probably didn’t feel it now it would most certainly be unpleasant for him later; this submission would linger. The body betrays itself. Damianos did not strike Laurent as the type of man who would be used to his body betraying him. One look at him, at the way he sat in his own skin, the air of confidence and flippant disregard of his own presence: it was obvious enough</p>
<p>“Spit,” Laurent said “get him wet,”</p>
<p>Damianos shifted, swallowing thickly, eyes flickering across Laurent’s face and he wondered what he was thinking. He didn’t look away. Not once. In turn, neither did Laurent. Everything else -everyone else- melted away until all Laurent could see, all he could focus on, all he could think about, was the sweet coaxed surrender unravelling before him.</p>
<p>“Now blow on it,” he instructed</p>
<p>Damianos hissed, tugging uselessly on his restraints enough for the metallic tinkle to disrupt the quiet.</p>
<p>“Take the head again,” Laurent said “suck it harder,”</p>
<p>Damianos’ frustration sparked in his body and in his features with clenches and twitches that betrayed him. Hips jerking with want to rise, stomach clenching, fingers flexing, throat working around noises relentlessly locked down. That would not do.</p>
<p>“Push down on it,”</p>
<p>Laurent watched with satisfaction as the response came immediately and shuddered out of Damianos; the first slow slide down. Laurent let him have it for a few moments, the pets head bobbing between Damianos’ thighs, the sound enough to let Laurent know it without looking.</p>
<p>“Now just the head again, use your tongue,” he said voice pitched a little quieter, recognising they were on the brink of it.</p>
<p>He was right, Ancel did as he was told and Damianos reacted; the tension in him shifted entirely, from reluctance to want. His expression changed too; the caged Lion replaced by a hungry one. Though no less displeased.</p>
<p>“Take it all the way down,” he said and he knew Ancel had done as commanded from the obscene sound alone.</p>
<p>But Damianos swore again, an exhale, harsh and hard in Akielon as his hands balled into fists above him and his breath was punched out of him. A quick glance down and the image burned behind his eyes: Ancel impaled on Damianos’ cock. Big as it was, he hadn’t taken it all. Just what was easy.</p>
<p>“All of it,” he commanded</p>
<p>Damianos blinked slowly back at him with dark honeyed eyes, mouth opening despite himself as Ancel did as he was told. It wasn’t a moan, barely a grunt, but his eyes were heavier, half lowered and lashes fluttering as the muscles in his abdomen strained.</p>
<p>Laurent watched it all avidly. He’d never seen someone come apart from up close like this. Not really. Before. <em>Before </em>he hadn’t watched, eye-contact was frowned upon. Too bold. Not sweet enough. Too challenging or demanding. Too embarrassing. Shameful. It was about power wasn’t it?</p>
<p>Laurent was looking now. He was looking because he <em>could.</em> Damianos was actively inviting him to like he understood the intimacy of it, the challenge. It robbed them both of distance. Laurent had seen enough of the simpering slaves his Uncle had been given to know they rarely met anyone’s gaze. But Damianos wasn’t a slave and if this was about power then here was Laurent’s reminder.</p>
<p>In his refusal to look away Laurent acknowledged Damianos’ recognition and rejection of it here between them. And in Laurent’s refusal; an answer.</p>
<p>But there was something else. Power, yes. But more.</p>
<p>Curiosity.</p>
<p>Laurent couldn’t look away, and he took note of every twitch and every gasp and every sucked in inhale with the same kind of keen curiosity with which he learned other new things. And it was new. The way Damianos breathed was a different unlearned rhythm, the set of his jaw and shape of his lips was a language Laurent had never encountered. The spark in his eyes and the pulse that seemed to come from them like an archer taking aim was a blank unknown. Until Laurent felt it like an arrow that hit him square in his own chest. It was a visceral tension, a line that tied them both together as hatred burned in the spaces between them. It filled Laurent’s chest until it came rolling out of Damianos’ mouth in a puff of air.</p>
<p>A barely extinguished word. <em>Fuck.</em></p>
<p>“Suck it properly, keep it slow,” Laurent said</p>
<p>The tension was singing. Laurent holding himself still; Damianos coiling tighter and tighter beside him as their gazes held. He couldn’t tear his eyes away, drawn to the little furrow between dark brows, to the indent of teeth on a reddening lip, the spread of heat in features going lax with pleasure, and all the helpless little movements between.</p>
<p>“Keep going,” Laurent said eyes flicking over Damianos’ face as the man began panting then, thighs spreading a little more as his hips came up of his own volition. He still didn’t look away.</p>
<p>In the spaces between his words Damianos shifted, expression changing, body thrumming. When Laurent spoke, it was like plucking the string of a harp: a shudder, a shift, a breath that wasn’t a groan. He was reacting to Laurent’s voice more than he was to Ancel’s ministrations.</p>
<p>Laurent was inescapably aware of it.</p>
<p>It was a heady feeling; a shocking realisation. He had no idea how to explain his own reaction except to say that it made him feel powerful. It made his stomach swoop and something akin to anticipation settle in his chest as Damianos stared back at him like he couldn’t see anything else either.</p>
<p>Laurent caught himself on a breath; forcing his features to remain neutral, even as he became aware of his heart pounding and of the pinch that manifested in his stomach like a bruise prodded. He didn’t speak for a long moment, didn’t look away, even when Damianos was breathing around a groan and thrusting upwards despite himself. There was nothing but their breaths and the suckling noises coming from between his legs to distance the stare. It was no distance at all.</p>
<p>He looked different like this, with desire lighting up his features. Laurent found himself devouring his face, acknowledging for the first time that whilst his body was straight out of a war legend, his face -when devoid of aggression- was straight out of a song.</p>
<p>It was softer than his body, belying the violence he was capable of. He was a contradiction; all tensed stone body laid bare, every muscle on display like a statue in a temple for a wrathful god, and his face: soft like a painting hung in a bedroom of someone you didn’t want to forget. Legend and Secret. Myth and Man. Beast and Beauty.</p>
<p>Laurent had never truly acknowledged his face before, had never had a cause to. He didn’t think of Damianos as much more than a body to be contained. That had been a mistake he’d made several times now. Damianos had a mind apparently and Laurent would do well to remember. He was more than a body and Laurent was memorising <em>more</em> now. </p>
<p>He got caught on the softer aspects he had not noticed before. He had a tangle of dark curls that gave him a youthful air, his eyes were dark and round, doe eyed really now that they weren’t narrowed in permanent distaste. He had high cheekbones, a slight flush dusting them, a prominent lower jaw, working open slightly as his lips parted. His mouth was full, the lower lip slightly bigger than the top and parted as a hint of tongue played there for a flash. Distracting.</p>
<p>He had a pretty face. Not pretty the way people said Laurent was pretty. It was darker. Sensual. A face made for seduction as his body was made for violence. An intriguing blend.</p>
<p>Laurent lifted his eyes from Damianos’ mouth, surprised still to be met with his gaze. He spoke again, his voice soft like honey and hard like steel in the space between them. Damianos still didn’t look away and Laurent was aware of his heart beating harder as their gazes held.</p>
<p>They stared too long, too hard, too intense in the blistering space between them. It came alive like lightening in sand and festered with all the fervent hatred that pumped back and forth between them with each almost shared breath. Laurent was slipping, forgetting everything going on around them. They might as well have been alone for all it fucking mattered. Laurent’s body felt on edge, like the start of a fight, thrumming with something indefinable that Laurent didn’t recognise enough to even put a name to.</p>
<p>It felt like anticipation only with more heat. Heat like violence but with an edge that made Laurent’s stomach feel tight and his thoughts feel loose. It was burning but there was no destruction in his veins, just a pulse that seemed to shift inside him like a second heartbeat.</p>
<p>It was almost as if… almost like.</p>
<p>Like Laurent was doing this to him. For him.</p>
<p>The thought hit him like a slap and all at once Laurent came back to himself. It was all too easy to imagine the scene, of himself in Ancel’s place. He felt his stomach fall to somewhere in the region of his knees as he realised just what he was imagining. It was the most servile of acts. The most vulgar and obscene and humiliating. The ultimate submission. And here Laurent was conjuring the image of himself submitting to Damianos of Akielos like the little broken whore his uncle always said he was. He felt bile rise instantly and he snapped his gaze away, stamping it down and locking it up.</p>
<p>“Finish him off,” he said rising to unsteady feet and turning away, refusing to meet those eyes again as he crossed to sit on the bench opposite.</p>
<p>The courtiers there made way for him easily. They spoke. Folded him into the conversation and he could feel their eyes on him, the light of it, the burning there; distinct from the way Damianos’ gaze was burning.</p>
<p>Laurent tried not to look, tried to engross himself in the low murmur of a conversation that felt like it had risen for his benefit. To mask their intrigue. He was distracted by the familiar shiver of violence and shame that clawed at his chest. A battle that would never be won. The game went on, the conversation stretched, but Laurent was all too aware of the end.</p>
<p>He tried not to notice, tried to blank his mind, but he knew the exact second that Damianos came because he couldn’t hold the noise back and Laurent couldn’t stop his gaze from finding him. Damianos curled forward, shuddering as Ancel hummed and swallowed diligently. When he sat back his body was lax for a matter of seconds before he lifted his gaze and Laurent found himself pinned.</p>
<p>His swallow felt lodged in his throat, churned up by a stomach still roiling in disgust, by limbs that felt all at once too loose and too tight as his head pounded with sudden tension; echoing like war drums. He was satisfied only by the look on Damianos’ face that mirrored the hurricane raging in Laurent.</p>
<p>Damianos’ eyes weren’t just burning, they were blazing, destructive, terrible even as they flashed with gold and bronze, cheeks still flushed from his orgasm. It was, without doubt, the terrible beauty of perfect righteous wrath. If he had been dangerous before, if he had hated Laurent before, it was absolutely nothing to what Damianos felt now and still only half of what Laurent felt for him. He looked like the god of war and death made manifest and Laurent had just signed over his soul. Damianos would want to collect.</p>
<p>He didn’t doubt he would try. Laurent expected it, wanted it even. He had taken something from him here, undeniably, indelibly, and Damianos was not likely to forget. Just like Laurent would never forget.</p>
<p>He had never hated him more. For Auguste. For the last six years. For tonight. For <em>this</em>.</p>
<p>Damianos was breathing deeply, all anger now even as he was released from his position. Vannes spoke, courtiers rose, Ancel was folded into a circle and congratulated and fussed over like he’d performed some great feat and still, Damianos looked nowhere else.</p>
<p>Laurent felt seen. Judged. Trapped in bronze and gold with an hourglass tipping on its axis that said <em>for now. </em></p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>So I was thinking about Laurent’s headspace in this scene and then before I knew it I’d written a 5k word blow job. My bad.<br/>Also my bad: I didn't edit overmuch so I'm sorry for any mistakes.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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